If Dreams Die
by Child of the Ashes
Summary: Hope takes many forms. It shouldn't bother him so much, but it does.


Title: If Dreams Die

Summary: The hollow has taken over Ichigo and Orihime follows him to Hueco Mundo.

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Authorial Notice:

I was encouraged to dig this up from the dark recesses of my computer by Himelove22 who wanted to see a Hichi/Hime romance. This was an idea I toyed with making into a story a while ago, but I never came back to it. Not sure if it qualifies as romantic, its more angsty I think, but it definitely explores the hollow's feelings, mostly free from Ichigo. Enjoy!

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She's a problem, he thinks, watching the forever moon hang over the white sea of Hueco Mundo, not the amusing diversion he had imagined her to be. Now, she's a hindrance, a torment, a _complication_. It's strange. Regret isn't familiar to him. It makes him cringe inside his own skin, hot and unsatisfied. One big fucking joke, but he's not laughing anymore.

He turns from the sky, looks back over his shoulder to where she waits, shifting noiselessly, announcing her arrival without words. As if, he didn't know she was there. As if, he couldn't feel her coming a mile away. A light in the dark. A disaster. A phenomenon. A fucking act of god.

And every moment is a chance to fix his mistake, a chance to wipe the slate clean. Yet, he never does. There's always tomorrow, and tomorrow turns into the next day and the next.

Exasperated, he searches for where he strayed from his original intent, claws himself apart to locate the place it all went wrong.

He's not even exactly certain _what_ has gone wrong, only that it started with _her. _Her and those disturbingly hopeful eyes, that unintended transparency. And even in a world of perpetual shadows, she's so damn _bright_ he can hardly look at her; can't blame the others for wanting to get at her, to eat her, to taste all that golden purity for themselves. But she is _his_, his victory over Ichigo, the spoils of war, so he cuts them all up anyway.

The girl is beautiful, even to hollow eyes and he wonders at what point that became more of a frustration than an indulgence, more a discomfort than a pleasure. Long strands of hair blow across her face, no longer held back by cherished emblems of childhood. Her mouth is tensed and unhappy, and she could almost be mistaken for normal. _Almost_.

She's dying.

Not immediately, not soon, but her heart is just as fractured as the mask he used to wear, just as cold and dry. But she follows him anyway, trailing on inconsolable feet, always dogging his shadow, always chasing something that only looks like what she's really after. And he's so tired of telling her that he's not _him,_ that he almost wishes he were. But even then, even when he's screamed and raged at her and she still doesn't _get it_, he makes no move to stop her searching for what she won't ever find. Thinks up a thousand excuses_ why_.

It would have been easy to leave her behind. He could have let her starve in the wilderness, could have left her for the lesser hollows. He could have left her where she _belonged_ on the other side of the sky.

_He could kill her now… _

It was a hollow's instinct to destroy that which it loved during life. So, she should have been the first thing to go, should have been cut to pieces and eaten and _changed_.

He wonders what ever stopped him.

It would be nothing to slide his sword into her flesh. It would be nothing to snap that fragile neck.

Her arms wrap around her small frame and she shivers. She's so much thinner than when she first followed him, only eats when he can be bothered to find her something. She swallows and just below the curve of her jaw, he can see her pulse, her life throbbing and flowing just under the surface. Its rhythm is hypnotic… It beats and beats and beats.

It would be effortless to stop it.

She doesn't see him move. He knows, because she gasps, startled, although he would have thought she couldn't be frightened anymore. But the princess is full of surprises, and he tangles a fist into hair that shines pale copper in the moonlight, tilts her head back until she's inelegantly arched against him, panting and trembling.

Deep inside, the heart he shouldn't have awakens and cries out, flaps dusty wings within the cage of his chest. He remembers bright smiles he never saw, laughter he hasn't heard.

Snarling, he tries to push her away, but his hands don't release. Instead, they stubbornly drag her closer until there is no space left between them. But the hollow is in no mood for Ichigo's defiance. He pulls Zangetsu from his back and his deposed lord stills.

It's the nervous licking of her lips that distracts him as he places the blade to her throat. He thinks insanely, that if he could slip inside her, if her heart could hold him, he would be content to stay there forever. Silver eyes never leave gold, and despite his hostile insinuations, they contain no fear.

He could kill her. _He could._

But, she is _his_ and he refuses to let any part of her go, ever.

That's the thought that splinters already crumbling walls, that moves his lips to press against the chords of her throat. He closes his mouth over tender skin, sweet and intoxicating, a delectable meal, and her life beats faster under his tongue.

He hates her.

He hates that even cold and broken and weak, she has captured something so crucial. She's twisted him up in pieces of herself, trapped him so thoroughly that he has no desire to be free again. He's moved from one captivity into the next, and he should have killed her the moment he realized the enormity of what she had done. But by then, of course, it was already too late.

"Kurosaki-kun…?"

There is so much hope in her voice that his hand tightens, pulling gossamer strands brutally until she winces. He thinks she tries to step back, but that's ridiculous. She never had the sense to run.

"Don't call me that."

She slides free as he releases her, blinks up at him with questions lingering in her gaze. And she _still_ doesn't look afraid. The dull ache that only she can bring echoes in his veins as he turns away, leaving without her blood on his sword or her life in his mouth.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, he will kill her.

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A/N

Review?


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